


To The Hilt

by round_robin



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anal Sex, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Gangbang, Kink Negotiation, Light Bondage, M/M, Multi, Object Insertion, Object Penetration, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Swords, Witchersexual Jaskier | Dandelion, Wolf Pack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:48:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27092287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/round_robin/pseuds/round_robin
Summary: “You like my swords.” Geralt said it like the most obvious thing in the world and Jaskier blushed, ducking his head. “On The Path, I thought it was the danger that got you off. But that wasn't it—just the sword.”While he hoped to discuss this, the reality of Geralt discovering it on his own (Jaskier was a fool to think the Witcher didn't notice, Geralt had a sharp mind, even before you added in the heightened senses) made his face heat up. But he nodded all the same. “The steel sword, mostly. The way it sits in your hand makes me want...” He swallowed down his embarrassment. They'd seen each other in their least glamorous moments, Geralt covered in monster goo, Jaskier crying furious tears after a disastrous show, he needn't fear telling him about this, showing his desires.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Lambert, Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Eskel/Lambert (The Witcher), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Lambert, Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert
Comments: 61
Kudos: 439





	To The Hilt

**Author's Note:**

> Do you ever forget your own kinks? They're so rare and don't ever come up in fics, you actively forget about them until you stumble across a fic that reminds you "oh yes, I'm a total slut for this..." Well, that's what happened to me.
> 
> There is an element of role play in this, but apparently that's not a tag and it's also not the point of the scene they're doing. I also didn't tag for DP or fisting because they're only briefly mentioned, so here's your warning on that. The light bondage is again, not the point of the scene they're doing, more of a safety thing and it's really clear when we get to that part. This is largely Jaskier's POV, all our favorite Witchers there to please and support him, because that's another fucking thing I'm soft for.
> 
> Please assume all prior negotiation happened off screen, they talked about safe words and stuff, but when I write those scenes, I tend to write myself in circles and I just wanted to get to the porn. So they are being safe, sane and consensual, just off screen.
> 
> And to absolutely no one's surprise, I set out to write kinky shit and it turned all soft and loving. It's still kinky, but there is a lot of soft here too, you guys. Please enjoy <3

Kaer Morhen was home to a great many things: horses, chickens, a few goats; Witchers—of course—and their gear. Saddles for their mounts, bags for their potions and ingredients, and their swords. So many swords.

The armory had everything, including rack after rack of sadly neglected swords. The only equipment in good condition belonged to the three surviving Witchers who still walked The Path. “Vesemir tries to maintain everything,” Geralt said when he saw Jaskier's frown at the sad state of things. “But it's a lot for him to take care of alone.” He pushed the bard towards the middle rack, where shining blades could be found once again. “These are our back stock, if we find ourselves needing new gear.”

“They're beautiful.” Jaskier had admired Geralt's swords a time or two, both before and after they started crossing _their_ swords. Despite his chosen profession, Jaskier loved a good sword, he was quite handy with one and Geralt was pleasantly surprised at his knowledge when they first started traveling together. Jaskier was no Witcher, but he had the best training a noble childhood could bring.

Yet, there was always more to it, for Jaskier. Geralt saw his swords as a tool, necessary for his trade, Jaskier felt the eroticism in the weapon. There was a delicious sort of satisfaction of holding that much cold steel, knowing you had the proficiency to produce deadly results. The warm leather of a pommel in his hand sent a jolt straight to Jaskier's cock, while the sight of Geralt—master that he was—taking a beast apart in a flurry of silver was more than enough to make him fully hard and leaking in an instant. Geralt had no complaints as Jaskier tended his wounds, then pulled him into a deep kiss, hand shoved down his own breeches.

Yes, Jaskier might have a slight preoccupation with swords. Sometimes, when they were separated, he imagined the pommel of the steel sword in Geralt's hand as he stroked himself, coming hard, a fantasy he desperately wanted to make a reality on the tip of his tongue... He didn't know how to bring it up and hoped the calm of winter might give them time to explore their predilections a little more. The Path wasn't the best place for discussing one's kinks.

As Jaskier stood admiring the rack, another Witcher came in, Eskel. They met the night before, along with Lambert, and while Jaskier had his suspicions, the bedroom eyes between Geralt and his brothers in arms answered a lot of questions. Definitely worth exploring this season.

Eskel nodded to them and plucked his swords from the rack. Only then did Jaskier realize they had a bit of a different shape to them. The same fearsome wolf head on the end of the silver sword, a jagged shape Jaskier shivered at the thought of, but on the steel sword, the pommel had more of an oval. “They're different,” he said.

Eskel nodded, extending his sword for Jaskier to examine. Neither Witcher missed the shiver that shot through his shoulders, or the smell of his arousal in the air. “Yes. We take whatever we can get, I think this one belonged to Rennes years ago, none of them were made specifically for us. But we still try to find what feels good in our hand.”

 _My sword will feel good in your hand_ , Jaskier did not say. They had enough time this winter to get to know each other properly, there was no rush...

Geralt finished storing his equipment for the season and they returned to his room. Jaskier didn't ask why the steel sword came with them, and tried not to stare at it in the corner of the room as they made love.

* * *

“You like my swords.” Geralt said it like the most obvious thing in the world and Jaskier blushed, ducking his head. “On The Path, I thought it was the danger that got you off. But that wasn't it—just the sword.”

While he hoped to discuss this, the reality of Geralt discovering it on his own (Jaskier was a fool to think the Witcher didn't notice, Geralt had a sharp mind, even before you added in the heightened senses) made his face heat up. But he nodded all the same. “The steel sword, mostly. The way it sits in your hand makes me want...” He swallowed down his embarrassment. They'd seen each other in their least glamorous moments, Geralt covered in monster goo, Jaskier crying furious tears after a disastrous show, he needn't fear telling him about this, showing his desires.

“I want it inside me. Not the blade,” he added quickly. “I'm not that sort of deviant. The pommel, it's, uh...” It took a moment to find his words, and when he did, the whole story spilled out, the reason for Jaskier's love of swords despite his indifference to any other sort of weapons training.

“His name was Richter. He was my sword instructor when I was sixteen.” Only nineteen himself, Richter was invalided out of the army when he took a blade through his off hand, nearly costing him the limb. He recovered fine, it ached in the winter, but nothing else, nothing to stop him from training the Viscount's pretty son.

Eyes as green as an open field, he indulged Jaskier's crush, only taking him to bed when he turned seventeen. Hot lips against his neck, hot cock brushing his own, Richter whispered, “Will you take _both_ my swords?”

Taking the pommel, warm from Richter's hand, was difficult at first, but the bliss of holding such a thing—beautiful, dangerous, strong, just like Geralt—inside of him was a heady feeling and he came harder than ever than night, going numb all the way down to his toes for a moment. Jaskier longed to feel like that again, with Geralt's sword inside him.

After listening to his story, Geralt nodded, pressing his lips together in thought. Just when Jaskier was about to expire from the tension, golden eyes flicked up, smiling. “How would you like to sheath six swords this winter?”

* * *

Jaskier hadn't stopped trembling since Geralt bound his feet to the posts of his bed, legs stretched wide, keeping him open. His arms weren't bound, that wasn't the point, but he needed to be open for what they had planned. He was so keyed up—cock leaking all over his stomach, balls drawn up tight—he didn't even notice the slight burn in his legs from the position.

Though Jaskier was eager to take the hilt of Geralt's sword, have his powerful Witcher fucking into him with the weapon that kept him safe and alive, he was glad they took it slow. A few weeks of getting to know Eskel and Lambert, lounging across their laps while they played Gwent, a few shy kisses here and there before Lambert finally growled, “I don't think we're going to break you. Let's have some fun.”

And fun they did have. Discovering a new lover's preferences was always exciting, and Jaskier was overjoyed to find them just as responsive as Geralt, all three of them hungry for his touch and his love. They sucked his cock dry, let him fuck them, licked his hole before asking so sweetly to take him... it really was glorious. And now, with his legs open, ass oiled and relaxed, anticipation thrumming through him, he waited for their game to begin.

Outside in the hall, he heard the first few scrapes of boots and gasped. He managed to get himself under control just as the door opened. “No Eskel,” Lambert growled, kicking his boots off. “I'm not saying you cheated, I'm saying you ignored the rules of the bout. Vesemir said _swords_ only,” Jaskier gasped again at the word, the thought of what was coming next, but they ignored him, “and you throw Aard. So yes, I'm pissed I ended up on the other side of the courtyard for no damn reason.”

Another set of heavy boots hit the floor, but they were all still dressed in their dirty clothes from morning training. “It's not my fault. Sometimes my Signs just come out, I don't need the words to cast.”

Lambert rolled his eyes. “Yes, mister 'I'm so magical all the mages want to me to fuck them,' try to keep it in next time, okay? Didn't appreciate getting thrown on my ass.”

Eskel leaned in, bumping their shoulders together and rubbing his nose on Lambert's cheek. “I'll try.” No matter how tough they looked, how grizzly and manly, the Witchers were good about touching and comforting one another. For the longest time, they were all they had. Normally, Jaskier would coo and melt at the sweet moment, but he saw a glint of Lambert's sword and his heart beat sped up.

“Stop bickering,” Geralt said, his steel sword in his hand as Eskel's hung low at his side. “Put your sword away and we can clean up.”

Jaskier tipped his head up ever so and hungry eyes met his. They were supposed to ignore him, go about their usual post training rituals... but training ended hours ago. They were all washed, scrubbed and fresh under their clothes, ready to strip off and touch Jaskier however he pleased, but first, they had to put their swords away.

Kneeling down on the bed, Lambert's careful fingers slid inside, opening his already loose hole. Jaskier couldn't stop the moan that came from him, and he definitely noticed the smirk on Lambert's lips before he schooled it away. Though the metal of the pommel warmed in his hand, it wasn't quite warm enough and Jaskier shivered at the first touch.

Last night, he took Geralt and Eskel at the same time while Lambert fucked his mouth; Geralt spent an hour this morning opening him up until Jaskier could take his fist. Days of preparation, and still, the end of the sword felt massive, the heavy metal pinning him to the bed. The grip itself wasn't as wide and the warm, clean leather brushed his insides, sending a shiver up his spine. Lambert moved slow, but steady, until Jaskier felt the cross guard brushing the backs of his thighs. His cock leaked and twitched against his stomach as Lambert slowly thrust out, then back in, working him good and proper. Jaskier closed his eyes and saw them in training, sword swinging, held tight in sure, strong fingers. A brush to his prostate had him almost coming.

“F-fuck,” he hissed.

Lambert didn't fuck him long, just enough to tease. With a quick kiss to the back of his knee, he climbed off the bed, leaving room for Eskel to put his sword away next.

There was a leather strap wrapped around his hand, Jaskier dimly recalled talking about it, but his mind was so foggy, he couldn't remember... A second grip breached him, careful not to pinch sensitive flesh between the two. The room was quiet, Geralt and Lambert abandoning the pretense of casually ignoring Jaskier like he wasn't there; all eyes were on him as Eskel slowly pushed his sword into Jaskier's hole. Once it was seated, he didn't thrust, but tied the two swords safely together with the leather strap so they couldn't shift.

Jaskier was trying not to fall apart, he really was. There was so much inside him, two swords belonging to two of the Witchers he cared deeply for, both of them doing this just to please him... Tears welled in his eyes at the sheer overwhelming thought of it all, and his cock continued to droll on his stomach as the hilts brushed his prostate with every breath. At this rate, he'd never make it to all three, he was too full already, so full of the steel they relied on to save their lives. It was so—

A rough hand brushed his leg and Jaskier twitched. “How are you doing? We can stop if you want.”

“No,” Jaskier managed to breathe. His arms, laying across his chest, were twitching and shaking with the need to move. He gripped the back of his knees, squeezing his own muscles.

He wanted to hold himself open, that was his first thought until Eskel worried about fatigue. “We're going to fuck you all night,” he whispered, “don't want you to get too tired too soon, lots to do with that pretty ass of yours...” And now here was that same man, touching him softly and asking if they needed to stop. Fuck, Jaskier did not deserve these absolute treasures, and yet he had them, and he was not giving them up.

Once he got himself under control, Jaskier shook his head. “Keep going, I can keep going. Don't stop. Please, never stop.”

Lips brushed the back of his thigh before Eskel stood up from the bed. One sword left. Jaskier opened his eyes, looking directly at Geralt as the White Wolf stalked down the object of his desire. Sitting carefully at the end of the bed, Geralt placed his sword on top of the others. “Ready?”

As soon as the warm metal brushed his stretched hole, Jaskier could no longer control the sounds coming out of his mouth. He tried biting his lip to stifle them, but that didn't work. His chest heaved, body trembling as Geralt opened him up still wider, wide enough to slide the third pommel home, fingers careful as they stretched him. It was nothing he hadn't done before, and still _nothing_ like anything he'd ever felt. The third sword fully seated, he let loose a long moan.

Three pommels covered in oil, the blades contained in soft sheaths to protect Jaskier from any accidents, all of them lashed together, and all of them _inside_ him. The weight of it was more than he imagined, more than two thick Witcher cocks or even Geralt's heavy hand inside him. He couldn't—there wasn't—he didn't know what— “Fuck!” he screamed, tears spilling down his cheeks. All three of them surged forward, ready to comfort or stop whatever was causing him distress. Jaskier shook his head, chest heaving, he was so fucking close. “Someone, please! I need—touch me.”

Six hands covered him, Eskel and Lambert sitting by his shoulders, their hands massaging his chest and sore legs. Geralt went right for the root of the problem, wrapping experienced fingers around his cock, cupping Jaskier's balls with his other hand. Two strokes had him coming, back arching like a bow as he spilled across Geralt's hand and his own chest. Eskel and Lambert held him down to keep the swords from shifting and in the small part of his mind that was still rational, Jaskier was grateful for their care, however the majority of his consciousness was blissfully off to a hazy, floaty world where it would remain for some time.

With the weight of three pommels pressing against his prostate, the amount of come covering Jaskier was staggering. Geralt licked his hand, eyeing the pool on his stomach. “You still want?”

“Yes,” Jaskier whispered. “Yes. Keep going.”

They kept going. Just like they discussed earlier—Jaskier wanted it all, all six swords in one day, three steel, three Witcher swords. He was their sheath and he needed them inside him.

Before they went any further, Eskel carefully removed the swords from Jaskier's hole, leaving him empty and bereft. He hardly had a chance to think about the aching emptiness inside him before Geralt leaned over, pink tongue lapping at the spend and the well of precome that covered his stomach. Two fingers slipped inside him, nowhere near the bulk he'd had just a moment ago, but enough to chase away the cold feeling that started spreading through him. He didn't even know who the fingers belonged to, just that they were there, pressed against his prostate, sending sparks of pleasure-almost-pain through his legs and pelvis, making his cock start to fill again.

When Geralt cleaned away the mess on his stomach, Lambert untied him, rubbing his legs to make sure proper blood flow returned. They rolled Jaskier over and propped him up on a mound of pillows before stripping. He was hard again, leaking onto the sheets. Two hands rested on his hips, a cock nudging his entrance. “You still good?” Geralt asked.

“Yes. Please.”

He was wet and loose and far too open, Geralt's thick cock slid in without a problem, drawing a deep grunt from the Witcher. “Fuck, Jaskier you're... can you even feel me?”

Jaskier felt _everything_ , from Geralt's cock in his ass to Lambert and Eskel's hands on his back, stroking his skin. They couldn't stop touching him, and he didn't want them too. “Go ahead, please go.” He wanted them to ruin him, Jaskier had never wanted anything more in his entire life. His mind was about to fully leave his body and he wanted them to continue using him, touching him, filling him.

The prolonged experience of fucking Jaskier with their swords had them all keyed up and it didn't take Geralt long to come. He managed to get a hand between Jaskier's hips and the bed, stroking him until he spilled as well, hole clenching weakly around him. Geralt staggered back and licked the spend from his hand for a second time, taking a moment to marvel at his own come dripping from Jaskier's loosened hole.

He shook himself back to attention. “Lambert, your turn.”

Lambert knelt on the bed between Jaskier's spread legs and took a moment to lean down, licking his hole before lining up and pushing in. “Uh, fuck me. He's so wet.”

Lips caressed his brow as Lambert fucked him, gentle fingers tipped his chin up to look into half-lided eyes. “Still good?” Eskel asked, voice low and soft.

“Good,” Jaskier said and let his head flop back down onto the bed. Sparks of over-sensitivity shot through him, his skin twitched at each thrust, each drag of Lambert's cock inside of him. But he couldn't stop, he needed more. He told them earlier: “I want you all today, don't stop until you're done.” With such explicit instructions, they should be more sure of their actions, but their human was still fragile, and no matter how much they wanted to fill him and fuck him, they did not want to break him.

But Jaskier wasn't a man easily broken, Geralt knew this. He'd seen him bow and thank hissing crowds, chin held high. Yes, he had small breakdowns, a few tears when his confidence took a hit, but he always went back on stage, it's what he truly wanted to do, and now he truly wanted them.

Wrapping his arms around Jaskier, Lambert pulled them flush together, his hips pumping against that plush ass. “Fuck, how is he so... Jaskier, you're amazing. Fuck...” Lambert came, adding to the mess already inside of Jaskier. So open from their earlier play, he could never hope to contain Lambert's come inside him and it started running down his legs.

Lambert pulled out and stumbled away, leaving only Eskel to take his prize. Given Jaskier's explicit words, he wasted no time plunging in. Eskel groaned, given his size (easily the largest of them all, he didn't like to brag, but it was true) he was used to even the most stretched hole feeling tight. Jaskier was not tight, he was wet inside and so responsive, the smallest movement made him shudder and gasp, over-sensitive and still begging for more.

Lambert and Geralt sat close by, touching him, stroking Jaskier's hair, sniffing for any signs of distress. They found none, only the tangy-sweet smell of arousal and pure bliss rolled together as heavy, exhausted eyes smiled up at them. Eskel leaned forward and thrust into him, getting his hand around Jaskier and tugging his half-hard cock. He whined a little, it was almost too much, almost... Jaskier closed his eyes and keened, falling over another cliff of pleasure. There was a grunt behind him and Eskel came as well, thrusting hard and filling him again.

Jaskier didn't remember much after that. His eyes blinked open and he was no longer sweaty and sticky. His limbs ached, he was still exhausted, but oh so satisfied. He turned his head into the firm chest under him and kissed a nearby nipple. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” A hand petted his hair. There was a warm Witcher under him, one spooned up behind him, and a third on Geralt's other side, all of them happy and sated after a truly fantastic afternoon of passion.

The rest of winter passed in a similar haze of amazing sex. Tender hands touched him like he was spun from sugar, but never hesitated when he asked, “Fuck me hard.”

There were some nights when the day's chores were too taxing, even for a Witcher, and his three exhausted Wolves only wanted to sit in front of the fire playing lazy rounds of Gwent or reading. Those were the nights Geralt pulled his sword out and settled Jaskier on the bed, turned on his side so he could watch them doze or play cards in front of the hearth. With the heavy pommel of Geralt's sword inside him, he was tethered to them, their turbulent life on the road forgotten for the moment as he held the solid steel inside of him.

Jaskier let his mind drift, eyes growing heavier and heavier as he watched Lambert and Eskel argue over Gwent before turning their gaze towards him, faces going soft at the sight. Eventually, one would come over and card their fingers through his hair, their other hand stroking his cock until he came, making a mess of the sheets. “Leave the sword,” he'd mumble as he fell asleep.

Just like their first embrace of Jaskier's desires, he always woke clean and held in a pair of strong arms, a heart beating under his ear, and a steel sword leaning casually against the wall nearby, near enough for Jaskier to imagine the next time...

**Author's Note:**

> This is fanfiction, please don't try this at home. I don't usually say this in my fics because I know people are actually smart, but swords are sexy and sex brains make poor choices sometimes.
> 
> Big thanks to the BLiKM discord for batting this idea around with me :)


End file.
